


chute de neige

by ohmalleys



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, this is possibly the strangest rarepair ive ever dedicated any words to writing let alone 20k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 18:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmalleys/pseuds/ohmalleys
Summary: snowfall. when you awake and your head won’t stop pounding the first thing you’re aware of is snowfall.





	chute de neige

snowfall. when you awake and your head won’t stop pounding the first thing you’re aware of is snowfall. you figure it’s been occurring for quite some time now because as you shake your hands awake from their numbness you can see clumps of the substance attached to your sleeves and turning your fingers a deathly shade. the next thing you do is shake your head, letting snow fall off your hair that it had been nestling into.

you grit your teeth to prevent them from chattering, though it does little good. you contemplate standing but are unsure how the rest of your body is doing. you faintly recall something going wrong.

oh, right. you were left here. though your head is aching  from exhaustion, you can now remember being abandoned in the middle of the night under this tree. something had gone awry on your hunting trip with gaston. wolves, a lack of ammo, several other contributing factors that somehow led to gaston turning tail on you and booking it with little consideration if you made it out alive or not.

  
and of course, somehow you manage to survive. though now it’s looking less likely. you’ve managed to escape vicious wolves but of course what will be the death of you is hypothermia. such a useless way to go. outrunning wolves is at least semi-heroic, this is an actionless death.

you allow yourself to stand. there’s a bit of a new drive within you, overtaking you. perhaps it’s man’s will to carry on and live. the old ‘fight or flight’ or whatever they call it. maybe it’s just fear that doesn’t want you to die alone beneath a tree. you figure it’s the latter.

  
walking isn’t an easy task. before you had passed out against the tree for a few light hours of sleep, you had certainly twisted your ankle in the midst of running. you only remember the injury when you try to take your first few steps and there’s a shot of pain up your leg whenever weight rests on it. you brace yourself against a nearby tree, curse under your breath even though nobody would be able to hear you if you were louder.  
  
oh. nobody able to hear you. the thought of being outside in this wilderness alone any longer made you endure the pain and continue on. surely you’d be able to run into something, someone.

the two of those things never come. the moments drag on from one to the next and the pain from your ankle spreads up your left side and blooms across your ribcage. maybe you injured that too or maybe it’s just exhaustion, but you’re running out of the will to care. snow is building up on your shoulders at this point and your ears are long numb. you don’t look up often so that you can at least avoid tree roots as well as getting snow caught in your eyelashes.

  
this is probably why you didn’t see a gate until you nearly crashed into it. it’s a little ridiculous, actually. you stumble a bit to prevent smacking straight into the heavy metal bars of it. you let your head raise to view an imposing design followed up by an imposing castle beyond. not exactly an ideal place to wind up (you’re more for a tavern or small town or literally anything that isn’t this), but it’ll do for you. you proceed, wrapping your fingers around the icy metal of the gate (it’d chill your fingers to the bone if they weren’t so numb already) and pushing it forward with all your weight until it finally gives and creaks open for you.

the castle feels as if it has eyes glaring down at you while you drag your (now mainly non-functioning) leg up the winding marble stairs onto the front porch in order to knock. while your knocks are meant with silence, the door opens nonetheless.

you let yourself in with a rushed thanks, locating the nearest fireplace and seat to warm yourself by without even looking over your shoulder or saying any more. as if words would be able to formulate into sentences while you were in this condition. anyone with eyes, you figure, would find it plain to see that what you need at the moment is to sit. relax. at worst to them you’re a foolish weary traveler who didn’t expect the strength of the winter storm, rather than being someone abandoned in the middle of the wood like the coward they must truly be. you close your eyes and let yourself rest before anything else.

* * *

  
the short slumber was a mistake. you couldn’t have been asleep for a few winks until you wake up in somewhere entirely different. you’re on the floor, now. your bad side. you wince and shift to get yourself upright. if it weren’t for how incredibly tired and disorientated you felt, you think you may have been a bit more frightened. maybe if you could find your voice you would have at least let out a shout. still, your heart was pounding.

there isn’t much to look at. you’re surrounded by stone, cold and damp to the touch. to your one side there’s bars. are you in jail? you figure that’s a worthy fate being you broke into a castle you’ve never seen before and would have no social ties to in order to have someone higher up talk the owner of the estate out of your punishment. then again, the door did open for you when you knocked. if gaston were with you he would have just barged in as if he owned the place and..

you let the thought go as you hear footsteps. if it hadn’t taken so much physical effort to sit upright you would have laid back down in order to fake being asleep. instead, you just clench your fists at your sides as if it’ll protect you in any way. the steps stop before they reach the front of your cell. now you feel your pulse in your ears, thudding much more rapidly than when you woke up. whoever was standing up nearby must be large judging the sound of their footfalls, as imposing as the castle they reside in.

you try to figure yourself it’s just like hunting. you’re not a particularly good hunter, but you’ve seen gaston shoot many a time. you’ve got to steady your breathing, hunker down the best you can while remaining silent. whatever is out there knows you’re in here but you have to act as silent as possible as to not be intimidating. show you mean no harm.

whatever is nearby has a low voice. not exactly raspy. the volume is being controlled to be more level, not as booming as it could be,” why have you come here?”

it feels vaguely threatening. you’re already imprisoned and injured, so they probably don’t see the point to fully threaten you. just scaring you more wouldn’t mean much as it’s not like you have the strength to escape or the energy to yell. you have to find your voice,” please. i was lost and injured with nowhere else to go-”

the voice cuts you off, preventing any more of your groveling,” so you break into my castle? settle yourself down on my furniture like a lost dog?” it’s raised now, less controlled. you feel a tingle at the back of your neck as you realize you’re in a conversation you cannot win.

“the doors opened and-”

the voice releases a more primal-sounding groan and you push yourself up against the wall furthest from its source. you can feel tears bubbling in your eyes but you wipe them away before they can fall because it’s just too embarrassing of an action. the voice is mumbling to itself, the voice too low for you now to make anything out. you feel a spark of hope that maybe, maybe, it’s gotten distracted by perhaps anger towards a servant that let you in rather than anger towards you.

“it was an honest mistake,” your voice cracks and you clear your throat,” please just let me leave and i’ll never come back.”

whatever is nearby you steps out in front of the bars. it’s too dark to make out most of the features, but there’s fangs. claws attached to large hands that have wrapped themselves around the bars,” don’t you get it? what you’ve already seen means you can never leave!”

you cover your eyes almost instinctively,” but i’ve seen nothing, i swear! i didn’t survey anything when i came in. it’s too dark for me to see now.” it’s only a bit of a lie. whatever is before you is a monster of sorts that’s making your whole body shake,” please, i want more than anything to just return home. i promise i won’t speak a word of this castle’s existence. you like your privacy? i get it—so do i!”

the beast audibly clenches the bars tighter, growls, then walks away. you can hear his departure, loud and angry as you let your shoulders relax  themselves as your hands fall back to your sides. you had been biting back any further tears, but you figure now’s as good of a time as any to let them fall.

* * *

  
the next time you awake there’s at least something nearby you. some bread, some water. it isn’t much and you have to stop yourself from scarfing it down as to not make yourself ill. it’s difficult nonetheless. you inspect your ankle to find the skin is discolored and it’s swollen. you’ve definitely done a number to it by choosing to walk so far on it. the tin cup that had the water in it feels cool enough to press to the skin, though. it doesn’t provide much comfort but it’s something.

  
the hours you’re awake bleed into one another as you fall in and out of fitful rest. you keep having a repetitive dream that you can never recall when you wake back up. it has to have been three days by now, judging from how many times you’ve woken up to bread. it’s some kind of metric to keep up with what’s going on.

while eating, you let your mind wander to what it’d be like to at least be sitting in front of a fireplace. maybe in a comfortable chair, for that matter. you figure that’s what gaston is doing by now. what did he even say when he returned without you at his side? surely he couldn’t have told the truth—that he was so spooked by a couple of wolves that he left you for dead. no, it’d be like him to make up some extravagant lie. you’ve seen him craft several on the spot before, it comes as easily to him as downing his alcohol.

maybe he said he had tried to rescue you from some stupid act. like you had wandered into the mouth of a bear’s cave and he tried but just couldn’t get to you in time. you figure he’d even pull out a few crocodile tears. gain sympathy, pity for himself. he thrives off attention garnered from others, you just never thought you’d be at the other end of it. the object of his lies, the puppet for him to dance in front of people to get them to feel bad for him. you hardly have other friends, if he had cared for you in the slightest he wouldn’t have left you. now nobody’s mourning you.

you see a spark out of the corner of your eye. it’s the first bit of light you’ve seen in the past few days and you turn your attention towards it. there’s a candlestick (rather ornate) sitting in front of the bars outside of your prison. you shuffle yourself towards it, stick your hands outside of the bars as far as they’ll go to warm themselves. it feels a bit childish to do so, but there’s nobody around to watch and you’ve given up the will to care at this point in time.

  
but the candlestick shifts, alters a bit. you swear you see a face and hear a face from it,” ah, _monsieur_! so we finally meet.”

  
and at this point you’ve seen a monster with large fangs and have been left to your lonesome for quite a while so you figure, yes, this is what hell must be like. this is your damnation, or something close to it. maybe this is the literal light that you see when you pass. you thought it’d be a bit more grand than from a candlestick, but this’ll do. you probably don’t deserve much more.

you have a bit of a hysterical tilt in your voice,” oh so you talk? well, alright. this is alright.”

and you swear you see the candlestick furrow it’s own semblance of a brow when it retorts,” well, yes. of course i talk. and it’d be rude if i didn’t introduce myself! i’m lumière—your friendly talking candlestick.”

  
your mouth hangs open for a few moments since you can’t formulate a single thought in your head besides the creeping realization that this might be real.

  
lumière laughs (you can’t believe you’re watching a candlestick laugh at you like you’re the joke rather than himself),” yes, i do realize this is all very shocking. but come, come. stand up. we’ve got to let you out, haven’t we?”

you rise to your feet as quickly as you can, albeit very clumsily and not without feeling a sting from your ankle that makes you hiss. lumière notes this as he begins to move around (quite proficiently, actually) to fiddle with the lock,” don’t worry, i’ll get cogsworth on your injuries. he’s more responsible than me, he knows way more about bandaging someone than i certainly do.”

you watch as the door clicks open, dumbfounded for a moment,” is he a candlestick too?”

lumière laughs as though that’s the first joke he’s heard in years,” no, no. he’s a clock.”

* * *

  
and he wasn’t kidding. you’re sitting down on a chair in some bedroom you’ve been taken to that you’re sure is one of many of its kind inside the castle. there’s an animate clock by your feet, inspecting your ankle.

he tuts,” you’ve done quite a number on this.”

you laugh due to it being an understatement,” well, i didn’t have much of a choice.”

lumière is on the dresser watching over the two of you and apparently gets a kick out of this,” feisty! i like this one.” you’re not really sure what was particularly ribbing about your comeback but you see cogsworth have an expression as if he felt zinged by your comment.

you feel the need to apologize. you’re the type of make the same mistake after the same previously mistake ad infinitum. usually gaston points it out to you, saying you chew too loudly even though he’s told you before what correct quiet chewing sounds like or something of the like. you always have to apologize for the same little mistakes that you can’t learn your lesson from.

cogsworth must catch the look on your face because he gingerly pats your foot,” now don’t get yourself down. i can definitely wrap your ankle up and you’ll be on the road to recovery in no time.”

lumière sounds as though he gets an idea from this,” tell me, do you like soup? we can prepare the finest of soups for you if you’d like!”

cogsworth shoots a glance to him, says in a low scolding voice,” and what would soup do for him?”

you see a candlestick approximation of a shrug,” it heals all wounds, my good friend. what more can i say?”

the scolding continues,” and don’t you think that making the ‘finest of soups’ as you put it would cause a bit of a ruckus?”

lumière has already hopped off the dresser and is making his way past the door,” we’ll have a bit of room service, then. _quietly_ make some soup, _quietly_ deliver it to this room.” and like that, he’s off.

cogsworth is wrapping your ankle by now, seems invested in getting it just right while mumbling,” ‘quietly’ make soup. he’s never been quiet in his life..”

you adjust your weight,” is it safe to assume that i wasn’t supposed to be let out of the cell?”

cogsworth shakes his head,” it is. once lumière gets an idea in his head though, well. it’s hard to stop him so long.”

hes finishing up by now, backs up to admire his handiwork,” you’re not behind it?”

cogsworth frowns, the hands on his face droop downwards as well,” disobey my master’s orders in order to help a stranger? i could never be fully behind such a thing.”

you don’t know what you had expected, but this response does make you feel less assured once it’s vocalized rather than heavily implied,” is your master.. the beast?”

cogsworth doesn’t seem all too pleased with this,” well, yes, if that’s how you wish to refer to him. technically speaking, he is a beast.”

“i’m sorry, i just didn’t know what to say. thank you for your help,” you’re not sure why you’re continuing to talk. usually someone loses interest in you at this point or you get cut off by another person butting into your conversation. you’re beginning to realize why you’re not allowed to go on and on—you’re just making the clock who was kind enough to break his moral code to patch you up annoyed.

cogsworth doesn’t seem as exasperated with you as before,” i figure that i understand where you’re coming from. a scary ‘monster’  alone in a castle with talking inanimate objects does sound like a nightmare of sorts. you’re the first to encounter this scenario. though, i must say, you’re much calmer than i thought anyone would be in this situation.”

you shrug,” well, when a clock bandages you up and you get offered your first real meal in days i guess beggars can’t be choosers.” it sounds a bit harsh though you were joking so you reiterate,” but thank you. i do mean it.”

* * *

  
you don’t just get soup. it’s soup and bread and fruits and pastries and a whole lot of things. you didn’t want to stuff your face, but it’s what you end up doing. lumière watches on gleefully, as if he hasn’t seen anyone eat before.

you increase your inquiry while trying to pace yourself through the meal laid before you,” so am i the first human to come through here?”

cogsworth is a fair distance away, nearby the door as if he’s trying to keep watch. he nods an affirmative response to you. lumière is back on the dresser again,” there’s something about being deep in the woods and surrounded by wolves that makes a human passerby next to impossible. can’t figure out why!” he chuckles at his own joke while cogsworth shakes his head.

“and your master.. locked me up for what reason again?”

lumière looks to cogsworth as if he needs approval for what he’s saying before he says it,” he’s peculiar like that. he doesn’t want.. anybody knowing about here.”

the way lumière says ‘here’ is strange. as if he doubts it himself. most things plum slip over your head for the most part, but his tone is a little too open. it’s quite obvious something is going on in this castle, you’re just not sure what.

“so it’s safe to assume i probably just can’t leave here? i mean, when my ankle gets better at the very least.”

lumière yet again looks to cogsworth. you do the same and see that that is most likely a negative. lumière looks to you, shakes his head. but he perks up,” but need not to worry! there’s lots of fun to be had around here. lots of chatty feather dusters that would to have a conversation partner, uh.. a whole bunch of things to do that i certainly can’t think of at this moment, but they do exist!”

you let yourself sigh, look over towards the singular window in the room. it’s night, so there’s not much to be seen regardless,” maybe it’s better this way. i don’t think i’d have anywhere to go to if i did decide to go back.”

cogsworth seems to be calling lumière into the hallway that he’s going into. they probably need to talk just like you feel the increased need to be alone for a bit.

* * *

  
you sleep much better on the bed. it’s certainly larger than anything you’ve ever rested on before in your life. the sheets are softer than you knew they could even be, and in the morning, you’re greeted with a new trolley. mostly pastries, but also a pot for tea. which is, as if you had almost forgotten, alive.

porcelain eyes are blinking back at you,” well, dear, i’m glad to see you’ve gotten a good night’s rest!”

you sit upright in bed, startled for a moment until it settles,” oh, uh, yeah. it was nice. i don’t think i’ve ever slept in a bed this soft, so.”

the teapot shakes her.. head you guess,” our master always insists on the finer things in life. makes him a little full of himself, but we’re working on it.”

the teacup turns to you and speaks up,” hello!” it sounds much more like a child than anything else. it’s a little discomforting but you greet him back.  
the teapot introduces herself and him at this point as mrs. potts and chip,” we should be around each other for quite some time, so i think it’s best to be friendly, don’t you think so dear?” is how she puts it.

“so your master doesn’t know i’ve been let out then, right?”

mrs. potts looks a little guilty for this,” it’s for the best he doesn’t for now. not until we can convince him, at the very least. he’s been growing more and more irritable over the years, so it’s best to proceed into everything with caution.”

chip pitches in,” but he’s not a bad guy! just grouchy. very, very grouchy.”

you nod,” i don’t think i can go anywhere, anyways. not with my ankle like this. also my ribs, i did manage to hurt those as well, and sleeping on stone for the past few days hasn’t helped that either.”

mrs. potts looks worried. you had meant to say that not to get her to pity you, but instead to reassure her that you would be as little of a hassle as you could possibly be. so much for that, then.

 

* * *

  
it actually isn’t awful being on bedrest. you keep getting food served to you, which you’re definitely not used to in the slightest. you begin to feel a little silly being doted on as if you’re a child. lumière teaches you how to play chess and while “going easy on you” he snatches up your pieces as quickly as the game starts. chip, as it turns out, can do a few stunts involving a saucer. cogsworth visits the least, but usually checks in to keep a mindful eye on you.

though, as all things do, it comes to an end. you’re in the middle of an afternoon nap when you hear a particularly loud conversation outside your door. the beast is there, saying to somebody,” and you just, what, thought you could let him out? show him around?”

you hear cogsworth respond, his voice stuttering,” we didn’t show him around much. lumière just insisted we let him heal for a while-”

there’s a roar,” heal? so he can get comfortable and escape? in a week’s like we’ll have a mob at our door and then what will happen?”

cogsworth is quieter now, harder to hear,” he doesn’t want to escape. he’s quite comfortable staying here, and has given everyone someone new to talk to. and maybe if he has a sister he can-”

any interruption,” i don’t care about that! i’m done with trying to do the impossible, and your meddling isn’t going to change anything about it.”

mrs. potts pitches in (who all is outside of your room at this moment?),” with all due respect to you, but maybe you could give him a chance. i know talking to someone new has put me in a better place, so maybe you just need to try as well. i know you’ve been just as lonely as us, and-”

the door swings open. the beast isn’t in the doorway, but nearby it. maybe he doesn’t want to be seen in the full light of day,” you’ve turned my own house staff against me.” it’s accusatory.

you clear your throat,” i didn’t mean to, i don’t know why they’ve taken a liking to me in the first place.”

he snorts like he doesn’t believe it either,” i suppose you can stay in this room for the time being. locking another living being up.. i’m not sure what i was thinking.” you’re not sure if that was an apology but he walks off after that, leaving the door ajar.

mrs. potts rolls herself and chip in to possibly lighten the mood. you enjoy a cup of earl grey while letting your mind wander,” thank you for standing up for me. i’ve never had anyone do that before.”

mrs. potts seems shocked, her painted eyebrows raising,” and why is that?”

you place chip down and he seems to wander about, bored with the conversation and more interested in exploration of the room,” well, i usually hang around a.. rougher crowd. nastier people. people who don’t deserve respect, i guess.”

mrs. potts seems to doubt this, so you continue onwards,” i only have a singular friend back at home. we’ve been together for quite some bit, but he’s.. he’s the reason i’m here.”

you shut down after that,” sorry, i don’t want to get into this. it’s probably all confusing. i don’t think i get what i want to say right now myself. forget it, ha.”

mrs. potts decides to tell you something else to get your mind away from the previous subject,” i think you’ll quite like it here. very homey. lots of activities to do if you think you’re running out. lots of game outside if you like hunting, lots of books to read for the colder days, and i can always teach you handiwork if you get bored of the other things.”

you nod, holding yourself back from thanking someone else for the hundredth time. you have to assure yourself that, yes, they definitely know you’re grateful at this point. you don’t have to keep saying it.

mrs. potts tells chip to get back with her as she leaves. her parting words are,” and believe me, in no time the master will warm up to you and you’ll get to chat with someone much more like you thank you probably think.”

* * *

 

the first day you feel like walking for more than a short distance, you get yourself up before your breakfast even arrives. you cross over to the window to observe the snow falling. it seems as though it always is around the castle, but it never really builds up. maybe, you figure, it’s apart of the whole deal going on with the monster and the animate household objects and whatnot. at this point, it really isn’t that far of a stretch of your imagination.

you try to let yourself be quiet, as if you’re sneaking around the floor you’re on. the hallway seems to go on for a good while until twisting off into stairs that you’re not sure you’re up for yet. the interior is much less decorated than you’d assume. in fact, under closer observation it seems as though the entire place is undergoing a state of decay.

  
you run your hand along the wall, partially for balance reasons so you don’t topple over like a toddler but also just to get a feel of the place. the floor you’re on seems to be colder, uninhabited. while the room you’re in has a working fireplace going at all hours, the hallways are barren of any source of heat. if any other human were here, it’d feel warmer. it’s almost unbearably lonely.

  
you pass by another row of windows, providing most of the light for the hallway. you look outside, though all you see is snow again. you’re not positive what direction of the castle’s property you’re looking out onto at this point. it’s all disorientating. even if you tried to leave, you’d certainly never find your way back home like this.

  
leaving. you’re not exactly sure why the idea keeps occurring to you. you keep having to remind yourself that there has to be absolutely nothing for you back home. everyone must be you’re dead by now. gaston, although more than likely to come up with a tall tale on the matter, must think the same as well. you’re gone.

  
is it necessarily a bad thing? the only reason you stuck around in a town like that was because gaston was there. he always told you where to go, what to do. he guided you when nobody else would give you the time of day. you wonder if it was more for his sake or your’s.

 

the thought gets interrupted by mrs. potts clearing her throat. you jump, chagrined at how easily startled you were by her and the approaching of a trolley.

  
“feeling better, i see?” you nod. chip bounces excitedly, says he can give you a tour if you’d like. mrs. potts scolds him, saying that you need to sit and eat your breakfast before doing anything else. it’s weird to feel almost as mothered as chip was. you hadn’t experienced that in a long time.

 

* * *

  
the tour goes over well. it turns out, chip actually doesn’t know the purpose of most rooms. mrs. potts aides in the matter, clarifying where chip’s knowledge ends. it’s interesting, but you’ve always had a slower time in picking up a myriad of information all at once. still, you appreciate their doesn’t mean you’re going to remember where the sewing room is and the history of threading a needle and whatnot.

  
the pair get a tad weary as you approach what must be the west wing. chip falls silent, sputters to a stop in his monologue. you raise your eyebrows, let your eyes wander up the stairs that twist into a different section of the castle. you can’t tell what’s caused the silence, as it appears as though it’s the same as the section you’re in currently.

  
apparently it’s noon already because mrs. potts interrupts your inspection with,” care for lunch, dear?”

  
before you can reply, she’s already off in a different direction. she turns to face you,” well, come, come! before anything gets cold.”

  
you pick up your pace behind her until you’re going the same speed,” where are we going?”

  
chip bounces in excitedly,” you’re going to eat lunch in the dining hall! it’s waaay better than eating alone in bed.”

  
mrs. potts clarifies,” usually the master eats around this time. unless you’d prefer not to see him, that’d be understandable as well.”

  
you let your eyes flit around the hallway nervously,” well, i think the question is more if he’d rather see me.”

  
mrs. potts tuts,” he doesn’t dislike you, believe me. he’s just.. the prickly sort. like a rose—you can’t just go in to pluck one, you have to be mindful.”

  
this isn’t much more comforting. you feel as if you’ve been dealing with prickly people for quite a while now. you’re a mixed range of talents when approaching them. sometimes you’re able to read what they want and how to best interact with them, but other times you’re too mindless and manage to make things worse over better. you’re never wholly successful.

  
she must pick up on your nerves (you’re always so obvious..),” don’t worry, love. you won’t be alone.”

  
chip pipes up,” yup! i’ll be there too!”

  
when you reach the grand doors leading into the dining hall, mrs. potts insists she goes in first as to not spring any surprise on the beast. you agree this is the safest route and allow her to proceed without you, the door shutting behind her as quickly as it opened. it doesn’t take long to hear what must be noises of protest from the inside, though those die down as quickly as they started when the door reopens for you abruptly.

  
you’ve found yourself face-to-face with the beast. there isn’t a shroud of darkness, he isn’t concealed by a wall or obscured from your vision. you’re standing incredibly close to a furry creature that must be a good foot taller than you. his shoulders, massive and bulky in size, look drawn up in annoyance. he recites, as if from a script,” thank you for joining me for a meal.” and turns tail (literal tail, which you see he possesses) to head back to a seat.

  
lumière seems to be setting additional tableware in the seat adjacent to the beast’s. if you were a bit closer to him, you’d call out his transparent actions of forcing the pair of you to interact. it’d be some friendly ribbing. he looks up to you and nods, gestures that, yes, this is supposed to be your seat.

  
you follow suit in sitting down. the beast clears his throat with discomfort. it’s almost a little strange to see a creature so imposing display a very human emotion of blatant awkwardness. you suppose that’s what you’re feeling too in this moment. you don’t really see him as your captor, just moreso a volatile housemate at this point.

  
lunch is mainly stew and bread. the pair of you eat much quicker than you should. mrs. potts watches the scene with what must be worry, as she pitches in,” master, we were just giving our guest a tour of the castle. he seems to be much more healed today.”

  
the beast grumbles into his bowl,” well that’s nice.” mrs. potts shoots him a glare and he sits upright better,” that’s nice.” he repeats it in a tone that’s a little friendlier, though still forced.

  
you figure you might as well pitch into the dialogue that is trying to be started,” yeah, i, uh.. learned a lot. it’s a very nice castle.”

  
he rolls his eyes at that,” you don’t have to lie. we can all see it’s falling apart.”

  
you watch out of the corner of your eye as he sinks his teeth (fangs, he has honest to god fangs) into half a loaf of bread,” well, i know a bit about masonry, uh, carpentry as well. nothing to write home about, but i could work on tidying things up. i mean.. if you’d like. if i’m going to be here for some time, i mean.” you have to prevent yourself from going on and on at this point. you fiddle with your hands in your lap, take a nervous drink from your cup.

  
he growls for a moment, the fur on his neck stands,” it’s no use.” mrs. potts looks to you. her face is trying to be reassuring, you can tell, but she’s also a teapot so it hinders the action a bit.

  
you know it wouldn’t be acceptable to try to stand up and leave yet, so you just sit in the chair for a good while. you count seconds in your head while praying someone will bend first and you’ll be excused or maybe even get the courage up to excuse yourself despite being the guest.

  
the beast stands up, pushes his chair in with a greater force than needed and turns to leave from the door opposite the one you came from,” pleasant sharing a meal with you.” and, just like that, he’s already gone.

  
there’s a silence in the room before mrs. potts turns back to you,” well, it seems as though he was trying.”

* * *

  
you manage to spend the next few days learning more and more about the castle without having to share another uncomfortable meal. nobody brings up dining with the beast again to you, maybe because he ordered them to never let it happen. it’s none of your business, so you don’t pry. at home, you’d be a bit more of a gossiping type, but here.. it’s different. you have a chance to make things different and you’ve had a lot of reflection time on how to work at that.

  
it’s not like you can completely rebrand yourself. paint over the same old house and it’s still going to have the problems of the old house, despite a new coat of paint. you’re always going to be a lowly idiot that has so little going for him that he’d rather spend the rest of his days wandering around a decrepit castle than return home to make anything of himself.

 

though it doesn’t take more than a week to have another encounter with the beast. you usually get left alone after dinner is served, so you decide to walk around just to stretch your legs and actually look at the castle at night. it turns out that it’s just as eerie as one would expect, empty without sunbeams bathing the hallways.

  
you make it down to the main foyer since you hadn’t been there since your arrival. while rounding the corner with an intent to sit down in front of the fireplace like you did before, you hear a conversation. you immediately pick up on the beast’s voice. it’s hard for him to keep it hushed. cogsworth is also in the discussion. a fear strikes over you that perhaps they’re discussing you. you can never shake the feeling that you’re overstaying your welcome, despite the reassurance mrs. potts and lumière primarily give to you.

 

your hearing isn’t the best (far too many guns have gone off by your ears from numerous hunting trips at this point), but you can still pick up bits and pieces. whatever it is, neither party sounds all too happy about just from their tone and whatever choice vocabulary words you can manage to actually hear.

  
when you finally decide to book it out of this situation before being caught, you are (of course) caught. the beast storms around the corner and points a clawed finger at you,” what did you hear?”

  
cogsworth isn’t far behind him, though he’s huffing by the time he reaches the beast’s side. he’s looking at you as if he’s genuinely worried for your safety. he reaches out to hold the beast’s cloak back, as if that’ll stop him from pouncing on you like prey.

  
you gulp, flutter your hands nervously at your side,” nothing! i didn’t hear anything, i was just coming down to sit by the fireplace, is all.”

  
the beast doesn’t seem convinced, despite you telling what is essentially the truth. his eyes (they’re so oddly human despite the rest of his features, they’re almost piercing) narrow,” your room has a fireplace, doesn’t it?”

  
you nod, almost with a rapid speed,” well, yes, but-!”

  
the beast studies your face for a moment and you hang your head in apology. he half-groans and half-sighs before he passes by you, deciding he’s done with the conversation,” well, enjoy this one if you must. goodnight.”

  
cogsworth follows suit behind him, though his gaze lingers on you. you can never read his expressions, partially due to his facial state but also due to the fact he seems to play his cards a bit closer to his chest. you know that he is the head of the household for the most part, so it must all come with the job. if anybody wouldn’t approve of you outside of the beast, it’d certainly be him. you’re used to being hated, used to people groaning at the sight of your entrance into a room, but this whole situation is so odd and new that it feels different somehow.

  
at this point, you’ve already lost interest in sitting by the fire. you give it a few moments before heading upstairs just to get to bed early.

* * *

  
you figure someone must have put the beast up to this. he’s knocking at your door, right around the afternoon after lunch. he loudly clears his throat,” mind if i have something to show you?”

  
it’s strange. if mrs. potts was still in here (she had left once you had finished eating) you would have shot her a glance. you think to yourself that there is no way that he is here under his free will. lumière would be a prime suspect, actually. first he beats you at chess daily, then he convinces his master into forced interaction with you. maybe the beast lost a game of chess as well, like a gamble.

  
nonetheless, you still respond,” no, uhh, not at all. one minute.” you’re not quite sure why you said this. there isn’t anything you need to do. you stand up and spend a few moments trying to clear your head before opening the door.

 

the beast greets you awkwardly. he waves his hand (paw? he has pads on his fingers and the palm of his hand) for you to follow him. he starts small talk the best he can,” i see you’ve been given a whole new wardrobe.”

  
you look down at yourself while walking,” apparently it was hard to find clothes in my size laying around.”

  
the beast making a snuffling noise that you come to realize is laughter. it’s a little bit sarcastic, especially when he tacks on,” tell me about it.”

  
you’re a bit embarrassed at yourself. you’re speaking to a fur-covered creature like you have problems fitting into clothes. his legs resemble that of a wolf and you’re the one complaining. it’s a bit silly. you kind of laugh as well.

  
the beast leads you down the stairs. it gets to the point where you’re standing in front of the foyer doors to the outside world. you look at him, honestly confused. he opens the door without looking at you, ushers you outside.

  
it’s strange to be back outside. the snow isn’t falling at this moment, but there’s a noticeable layer of it coating everything within your line of sight. your heart starts to pound as you keep the creeping thought that this is you being escorted out of the castle for good. maybe you’ve been tricked. you don’t take the beast for the type that is truly cruel, but you haven’t have the best track record for judgement as of late.

 

the beast is behind you, so you turn to him dumbfounded. his eyebrows furrow,” you don’t look.. happy.”

  
you try to regulate your expression. no, no, this isn’t about to go horribly wrong. you’re just assuming the worst. you have to figure out how to keep your emotions more controlled. it’s fine,” sorry, i just.. don’t know what’s happening.”

  
the beast heads out in front of you, descending the snowy stairs with ease,” in all honesty, lumière has been asking me to take you outside now that he thinks you’re fully recovered. i didn’t want to tell you inside since there are ears everywhere, but..”

  
it’s more comforting to know he was put up to this. you walk in the places his feet have caused the snow to settle and compact. it’s better than slipping, after all.

  
it’s a comfortable sort of cold outside. no harsh wind, just cold enough to keep the snow from melting. it’s serenely quiet as well, interrupted only by the crunching of footfalls against fresh snow and the occasional call of a bird. the castle has a relatively large courtyard in front of it. you figure there must have been a garden in this location, but it hasn’t been tended to a quite a while.

  
“is it always snowy here?”

  
the beast is in front of you, and you see him shrug,” more or less.” he isn’t much of a conversationalist. you’re not too great at it either, but you’ve had a bit of cabin fever and too much time alone in your thoughts at this point.

  
“i hope this isn’t too pressing, but is there a reason why?”

  
the beast stops in his tracks. you think for a moment he’s about to reel back and wig out on you for being so nosey. instead, it appears as though he’s only tipping his head up to look at the treeline in the distance,” there is. but of course, it’s not something i’d like to talk about.”

  
you have a hard time shutting your mouth, but you still try to tread carefully through your next question,” is it safe to assume everything’s.. connected? the weather, the castle, the.. you get it.”

  
the beast stops looking ahead and continues on walking,” it is.” his voice is even, quiet. you know you’re being annoying, but you can’t help but want to learn more about what’s going on. at least he’s tolerant of you. gaston would never give you the time of day if you asked him, at least the beast has patience with you. or, through his servants’ directions he must be learning to have patience with you.

  
the beast is the one who changes the subject,” if we’re being personal, i’d at least like to ask why you came here.”

  
you’re not sure how to respond. your mind drifts back to the idea of reinventing yourself. you could lie about why you’re here much like how gaston most likely lied about how he tried to save you from certain doom. it’d almost be like your way of revenge, as petty and as childish as it sounds. but you cannot think of a lie soon enough, so you settle for,” it was the first place i saw. believe me, i wasn’t trying to.. you know, raid the castle and take riches. i just needed somewhere to stay, that’s all.”

  
the beast does a less sarcastic sounding snort of a laugh, though it’s still brief,” there’s no riches to be found. at least, nothing gold. sentient silver flatware, if that counts for anything though.”

  
he’s funny in an odd way. deadpan, mostly. he speaks as if he isn’t trying to joke with you. you suppress laughter,” yes, you have plenty of that.”

  
there isn’t much conversation to be had after that. neither are you see to be ready to continue chattering in any way. it seems he won’t budge on his personal life, and you’re not ready to reveal much about yourself either.

  
when you head back inside, he turns to you while going up the stairs,” eat dinner with me tonight? it’ll overjoy lumière, after all.” you laugh, nod your head loosely as you head in the other direction towards the fire to warm up your feet.

* * *

  
mrs. potts is waiting for you in your room when you return. she has a pot of tea ready to warm you up, as if going outside for that short of a time span would make you catch a cold. you thank her nonetheless.

  
she watches you drink with a weary eye,” i hope you realize our intentions behind making you speak with our master were not to manipulate you into forming a friendship. it just seems the pair of you could both use some company.”

  
you shrug,” thank you. i think our conversation went well, he invited me to eat dinner with him tonight.”

  
mrs. potts does seem genuinely shocked at this. something in the back of your mind tells you it’s because she finds it hard to see you actually making friends, but you know that’s the self-sabotaging part of yourself. you repress and continue on,” is it out of character?”

  
she seems a bit lost in her thoughts, but manages to nod out a response,” very.”

 

you spend the hours leading up to dinner certainly nervous. you know the beast has no ill intentions in his invitation, but you’re also terrified that you’re going to prove yourself boring or uninteresting and somehow he’ll cast you out from his household.

 

lumière plays a game of chess against you in the meantime. there’s something about speaking with him and the other occupants of the castle that aren’t as intimidating, you assume it’s because they aren’t as humanoid. this, and that they’ve always expressed at least some amicable traits (cogsworth less so, but he has his moments).

 

between moves, lumière keeps looking up at you as if you can’t tell he’s studying you. ever since your return from the walk, everyone you’ve encountered so far has been acting strange. it must really be out of character for the beast to be so inviting. you think about clarifying that he didn’t seem _that_ enthused about it.

 

cogsworth comes to your room in the middle of the game (you were losing, so it’s fine) to announce that dinner was about to be served. he keeps watching you as you go down the hallway,” the master is incredibly desperate for friendship, mind you. this isn’t about you specifically.”

 

lumière is keeping pace behind you. he chimes in,” cogsworth, it almost sounds like you’re jealous of a newfound friendship.”

  
cogsworth audibly (his eyes are gear-like) rolls his eyes,” i just think the master should be concerning himself with matters other than friendship.”

  
lumière falls silent. it’s telling.

* * *

  
dinner goes over well enough. you had worked yourself up into believing it was a big deal, when really it was just a meal. it’s not like the beast looked up at you and gave you a toothy smile to show that you’re now closer friends with him than before. in fact, he just seemed as uncomfortable and unsure of what to say as before. you’re a fitting match.

 

you only make matters worse by considering what cogsworth has said for the tenth time since the start of the meal. you keep mulling it over in your mind, unsure of how to look deeper into it. there’s got to be another meaning, you just aren’t sure what it is. whatever he meant, you know you’re not apart of this plan. like you’re an uncounted for variable in this whole equation with an endgoal that was never fit for you. you’re the cork in the plan, the foil. in other words: you’re not meant to be here. you should be leaving.

 

and, of course, after dinner you waste your time on this dilemma as well. you’re unwanted. you’re always the unwanted one in situations, that’s why you were left behind. that’s why you don’t have many close friendships. there’s something about you so distinctly unlikeable and unneeded in situations that, no matter what, someone is always trying to figure out how to boot you out. make you leave. at first the beast wanted you gone, and now cogsworth seems to be at this task as well.

  
even if you’re trying to become better, be a more likeable person that people want to be around and befriend and not abandon, apparently there’s still something innately in you that makes you do something wrong. it’s frustrating, being in your head this often. it makes you want to leave yourself, if that were even possible. forget any idea of reinvention, how you can reincarnate to a person worth knowing?

* * *

  
your next interaction with the beast is that you stumble into him in the hallway. well, it’s not exactly possible to stumble into a figure that’s a good foot taller than you, but you nearly run into him.

  
he looks startled for a quick moment, but regains himself,” hello.. uh. well this is going to come out quite rude of me, but i never learned your name.”

  
it’s silly to say, but you proceed with honestly,” lefou.”

  
he looks as if he’s going to laugh for a moment, tipping his head back until he realizes you’re serious,” oh, sorry. i didn’t mean-”

  
it’s your turn to laugh, albeit awkwardly,” no, no it’s fine. it’s a nickname, really.”

  
he crosses his arms over his chest (is he getting comfortable in the conversation? that’s a relaxed pose, right?),” it’s a little cruel.”

  
you shrug,” i suppose you’re right. i’ve just been called it for so long it’s.. i’m used to it.”

  
he seems intrigued,” so you.. like it? your nickname serving more importance than your name?”

  
you smile, just a little in recollection,” a friend gave it to me.” though it doesn’t take long for you to remember which friend. your smile falters. you feel standoffish in such an open hallway in that moment, like you’re taking up all the air. it’s stupid. you’re an idiot.

  
he notices the cold shoulder,” well, i’ve got to get going. unless.. you’d like to follow?”

  
it’s a nice gesture. you’ve gotten used to many people being nice to you for reasons you can’t pinpoint. like when mrs. potts talks to you while you drink tea and eat breakfast or when lumière teaches you better chess strategies even though he far outmatches you or when chip tells you about his recent daydreams.. the list goes on.

  
you follow behind him, saying something tacky like ‘lead the way’ as you let him pass in front of you. he takes you to a part of the castle you’ve never been before (you’re constantly finding new places on your own exploration, so this isn’t all that surprising). it’s high up, you have to wind up the stairwell for a while to get to you.

  
you’re located in one of the many spiraling towers of the building, the top of the location was large windows and a grand outlook that wraps around to cover most of the property and even onward. the room at the top of the tower isn’t empty. there's a cushioned bench that circled around the interior of the room, a small table with a lamp when it gets dark. it isn’t grand like everything in the castle (though the view is something), moreso the opposite. it’s like a room you’d find around home. simply decorated, functional. you take an immediate liking to it.

  
the beast locates a spyglass, presses it to his eye and looks out the window. you almost chuckle, but hold it back,” birdwatching?”

  
he turns around, lowers the spyglass as if he’s almost embarrassed,” well.. yes.”

  
he offers it to you, quickly pawning it off to your hand so you don’t make actual physical contact with him. he retreats his paw (is it fair to call it that?) back to his side, but uses the other to gesture outside,” care for a look?”

  
you’ve done a bit of birdwatching before, though not from this height. it seems a little ridiculous to try to look at birds so small from so far away, but you’ll bite. most of your previous experience in this matter was mainly for hunting game, so it’s odd to be doing it in a peaceful setting as well. nonetheless, you try anyways.

  
the magnification in this glass is much higher than the one you use while hunting. though it doesn’t get as close as preferred, you can definitely spot a grouse around the courtyard (a bit out of place, but everything in this area seems to be). “wouldn’t it be easier to do this from outside?”

  
the beast remains silent, shuffles on his feet,” birds, they don’t.. they’re scared of me.” he sounds incredibly guilty to say this, as if it’s his fault entirely.

  
“most birds are flighty,” you reassure him.

  
he leans a bit closer to you, gestures to put the spyglass to your eye,” mind if i..?” after you perform the action he’s pantomimed, he moves the spyglass to point at a certain location as gently as possible with the tip of his claw.

  
in front of you now, you can see a nest built in one of the crevices of the castle’s skyline. upon further inspection, you can see eggs inside of said nest. the corners of your mouth curl into a smile,” well, would you look at that.”

  
when you put the spyglass down, the beast takes it back from you (still being touchy with any contact, though you don’t judge him for it) to look at the nest as well. he gets a small smile on his face as well, appearing to be fond of what he’s looking at. it’s in that moment you realize how utterly human he is. being delighted by the promise of new life, his interest in something as casual as birdwatching. it’s as if you couldn’t imagine him having such human interests until this very moment. you curse yourself for assuming he’s anything other than what must be a decent person beneath his exterior.

  
the beast is shortening the spyglass by now,” not to get too sentimental, but my mother.. she was very interested in birds. nature entirely, for that matter.”

  
you know this means she’s gone now. you feel an ache of sympathy and close your hands at your sides,” my mother was interested in gardening, i guess that’s alike.”

  
he looks at you with this pang of loneliness in his eyes,” is she gone?”

  
it’s an odd bonding moment. you don’t nod, but he knows your answer,” i’m sorry.” the room falls deathly quiet.

 

the beast must have decided he’s had enough for now,” dinner tonight?” he’s already on his way out, perhaps drained already by this encounter. you give him an affirmative and he’s on his way.

* * *

  
at this point, you’re now having most meals with the beast. you don’t make much of an attempt to have any more one-on-one conversations (maybe you both fear having to talk more about yourselves), but lighthearted banter over a meal isn’t awful. lumière likes to joke how amicable the two of you have grown over bonding over a good loaf of bread (what can you say, you both have many conversations about bread!). it’s actually good to see the beast smile, and usually when he laughs he likes to slam the palm of his hand down repeatedly against the table (the plates hate being rattled, but it can’t be helped). it’s infectious, it feels good to have something to constantly look forward to.

  
the thing about being mostly alone in the castle is that there isn’t many expectations. there’s nowhere you have to go, nobody you have to do actions for to please. you don’t have to worry about lodging or food or anything of the like. it’s just a constant. everything feels scheduled, everyone seems happy to see you for the most part. the longer you spend there the less you try to contemplate why you are there.

  
you know cogsworth still is upset with you, and that does manage to eat at you. he usually watches over the dinner conversations with disdain until lumière can shake a laugh out of him. you don’t think you have the confrontational skills to ask cogsworth what about you must be so abhorrent to him. if you can fix anything.

  
still, all questions have answers as you find out. in the middle of lunch one day (the conversation has lulled to a comfortable silence by now) cogsworth clears his throat with obvious annoyance,” master, don’t you feel as though you’re wasting time.”

 

lumière laughs at this as though it’s a possible pun, but falls silent when he catches the expression growing on the beast’s face. it isn’t exactly annoyance or anger, but it must lie somewhere adjacent to the two,” we’ve had this conversation before. enough.”

  
but that doesn’t sit well, as there is a retort of,” we keep having the conversation because apparently it’s not getting to you! master, please, you know how much time we have left and.. alright! i can’t say this in front of our guest here, but you know exactly what i’m speaking about.”

  
mrs. potts jumps in on this conversation,” cogsworth, dear. he’s made his decision. we have to accept his wishes, whether we like them or not.”

  
the beast slams his palms down, definitely angered by now,” HE is right HERE! you can’t keep treating me like a child that cannot make my own decisions. i run this household and what i say goes.”

  
cogsworth sputters. you imagine if he were a man, his face would be a bright shade of red,” it’s a bit selfish when ALL of us are involved. it’s not just you! you can’t make decisions without thinking of all of us.”

  
the beast rakes an arm across the table, knocks off a plate of figs. he doesn’t give a verbal response, rather an animalistic roar before he storms out. cogsworth isn’t close behind him, immediately trying to make amends for what he’s said.

  
you’re not sure what to do,” is this my fault?”

  
mrs. potts is the first to comfort you,” no, dear. this is a matter between us and the master, you’re fine.” she has to turn to comfort chip, clearly distressed from the conversation.

  
“can anybody tell me what’s going on,” it’s more exasperated than you had wished for. you’re stressed, your chest is closing up. is this your fault? they have to be lying to you. you’re doing something wrong, you always mess things up without intending to. when gaston would be hunting, you’d always step on a fallen branch and ruin the shot. when gaston was engaging with a woman he wished to pursue, you always were oblivious to him telling you to give the two of them some privacy. you’re used to being criticized, corrected. at least then you know what you’re doing wrong, rather than feeling so clueless.

  
lumière provides some solace, but it isn’t much,” i wish we could say, but it’s the master’s decision to reveal to you information.”

  
you leave the table loathing everything that has conspired. you don’t want to verbalize this to the people trying their best to comfort you, who have always been trying to be there for you since your arrival. it’s better to just be alone at the moment.

* * *

  
you hear a knock at your door in the middle of the night. you had been sleeping, so you’re not sure how long the knocking had been going on. you blearily open your eyes. only the beast knocks (he’s the only one capable, especially judging from how loud it is). you yawn, raise yourself from bed.

  
when you open the door, you’re greeted with a shifty-eyed beast. you yawn yet again, not meaning to make it come out as rude,” what time is it?”

  
he instead comes into your room. the sound of the claws on his feet click against the floor. you shut the door behind you, assuming that that’s what he wants. it seems as though you’re about to engage in a private conversation. it’s nerve-wracking, given the events that have conspired.

  
he doesn’t respond to your question, rather goes off into the topic he must intend to talk about,” i’m making a mistake.” he’s pulling at the hair along his neck as though it’s a nervous tic. you’re not sure how to comfort him; in fact, you feel unsuitable for the situation given that you’re half-awake and in a nightgown at the moment.

  
“what do you mean?” still, you’re curious. the old gossip in you awakens.

  
“cogsworth has been pestering and pestering me and i.. i can’t do what he asks of me. i know it’s selfish, please. he doesn’t seem to get that i’m aware of that. but i’ve always been this way—i’m dug in and i’ll never change, even if i want to.”

  
you have no idea what he’s going on about at this point. you barely have a clue what anybody in the castle is speaking about most of the time, all in hushed whispers or acting like what they’re saying is in code. whatever is the talk that seems to be always going around, it appears to be none of your business.

  
the beast sits on your bed, digs his claws into his own knees. he’s looking around the room with wide, distressed, eyes and you’re not sure how to comfort him. you should be comforting him, correct? why else would he come talk to you? perhaps because you’re out of the loop, apparently the only one not affected.

  
you take a gentle seat next to him, easing into it slowly so he didn’t seem taken aback. you’re used to comforting people, really. gaston only trusted you to serve as his shoulder to cry on. you’re used to it, this is almost like a routine. you have to approach carefully, and the rest will come.

  
the beast doesn’t rest his head on you. he remains silent. you don’t believe he’s going to cry... maybe he’s not the crying type? can he cry? you feel silly after that thought crosses your mind. certainly, he has to be able to cry. you’re just being ridiculous now since he doesn’t break down exactly like gaston does. you’re not sure how to best support him and it’s bothering you.

  
you’ll have to press forward,” why can’t you change? what is cogsworth even talking about?”

  
the beast opens and shuts his mouth, his teeth having a resolute click. for a moment, you don’t think he’s going to tell you. though as time passes, he must have gone back on his decision,” haven’t you noticed? well, of course you have, but.. haven’t you pieced it together?”

  
you feel chagrined,” no i’m afraid.. i’m afraid i haven’t. i’m sorry i’m making you spell it out, in that case.”

  
he seems intent on studying a far-off corner of the room, where the molding seems to be in the beginning stages of crumbling and deteriorating,” it’s a curse. this whole place is under a curse. it’s… all my fault. i’m not saying that in a self-detrimental manner, either. it’s legitimately all of my fault that everyone here is… the way they are. myself included.”

  
he outstretches his hands, looks at the back of them now. you can’t help but to study them, too. there’s something under the fur and claws and the like that is innately human,” cogsworth is mad because we can break the curse. there is a way. i’m just not.. it’s not something worth pursuing anymore. it’ll never happen, so i find it useless to be wasting all of our time. there are still other things to enjoy.”

  
you know you may be overstepping your boundaries, but you try your best to proceed with caution,” do you want to, y’know, break it? the curse?”

  
the beast rests his palms back on his knees, though this time he doesn’t dig the claws into them. he seems a bit more relaxed, as if he got a weight off of his shoulders already,” more than anything. it’s just… not feasible.”

  
he stands after this, apologizes for being a disturbance to you. you’re left with more questions than answers. eventually, you give in to fitful sleep where you dream of yellow eyes of wolves and long hallways with no end in sight.

* * *

  
you allow yourself to take up embroidery. mrs. potts seems enthused about your interest in it suddenly and fetches the required elements. embroidery (all needlework, really) was something your mother had been good at. she had taught you, when you were much younger, some simple patterns and how to at least thread a needle if need be. your father had ended your lessons, however. thought you could be of more use chopping firewood or doing anything under the sun that wasn’t sewing work.

 

still, with your head so rattled and your body so restless with the need to feel useful, this was the least you could do. your father has been long gone (though not as long as your mother has been), so there’s no need for you to keep peering over your shoulder while you attempt to knot the thread. nobody is going to stop you. in fact, nobody in the castle is likely to even judge you.

  
nonetheless, you have to take a few calming breaths to center yourself and remind yourself that what you’re doing is okay. you then begin to work on a simple design of a cream-colored rose, which also helps clear your head. for a few hours it feels as though it’s just you and your hands and your work. there is no anxiety over where you are or where you came from, just simply a little flower design and your clumsy fingers trying to relearn what once came so naturally. it’s a stumbling process, like a baby bird’s first flight, but evenso you manage to find your pace.

  
you’re currently working in front of the fireplace in the foyer, simply because leaving your room and travelling down to it was an excuse to exercise your legs a bit. you hardly notice the beast come up from behind you until he exhales.

  
you jump, startled, and nearly manage to prick your finger with the needle. the beast half-chuckles, half-apologizes to you. for a brief moment you feel self-conscious over your work. partially because you’re out of practice and partially because you’re afraid the beast will judge you much like your own father did.

  
instead, he hunches over your shoulder (ignoring personal space, but he’s a little too bulky to _not_ invade one’s personal space), his eyes squinting as if to study every stitch,” this is… you never said you were a creative-type.”

  
you flap your hands over the embroidery hoop,” i did say i know masonry! that’s a bit creative, don’t you think? this is just.. silly stuff. i wouldn’t really count this.”

  
the beast outreaches a paw as if to ask ‘may i?’. you hesitate for a moment, but gingerly hand over the hoop to him so he can get a closer look. a smile creeps up along his face, as if he had been trying to repress it,” do you like roses?”

  
your face flushes,” well, i.. i suppose i do, yes.”

  
he catches your chagrined expression and grins wider,” ah, i see. this castle is strewn with rose motifs. i get it, all the imagery really does put roses on the mind.”

  
he’s right about this. there’s roses growing outside, some climbing the walls. tablecloths embossed with a rosy design, roses painted elegantly on dressers. the list could go on, especially if you were more observant.

 

you decide to shift the conversation off of you as the beast hands back your work,” do you like roses?”

  
the beast stands frozen in place for a moment, before settling into a more relaxed position with his posture,” i figure i do.” it’s strained, in a way. there’s something that needs to be unpacked within his statement, but you’re not sure what.

* * *

 

 

the embroidery begins to border on a bit obsessive. without much else to do and a newly realized sense of freedom, you can’t help but to indulge. you make roses upon roses of varying colors and sizes and details, each better than the last. each time you start a new rose it’s like peeling back of layer. embroidering gives you time to think, reflect.

  
on maybe your tenth rose you think of gaston. on the first petal, you figure you deserved to be left. you’ve always been cowardly, weak, unresourceful. you would have weighed him down if he had tried to save you and himself together.

 

for the second petal you imagine a life if he had taken you back with him, no abandonment. would you have been better off? you certainly wouldn’t be embroidering. you wouldn’t be thinking much, either. though sometimes all the thinking you’ve been allowed to do in the castle turns you into a nervous wreck. are you happier now than you were then? it wasn’t as if you were saddened then because you couldn’t do the things you can now. you had never realized how restrained your life had been before, but it’s not as though you had even felt all that restrained back then.

  
for the third and fourth petals you try to unpack why gaston leaving you behind hurt as badly as it did. it felt good to have a position as gaston’s right-hand man, so being abandoned was a clear sign that he’d rather lose a limb than carry on with one. it also reconfirmed your fears that you’ve held about yourself and the fears that one day he’d find something else better.

  
of course, being left behind was not how you’d foresaw yourself being left. you were well-aware of gaston’s romantic pursuits (he spoke of them often), and you knew that once he was wed it wouldn’t be possible for the two of you to be around each other as much. he’d have a wife, possibly (definitely, according to him) children. they’d have their own cottage and there would be no room or use for lefou anymore. you had been spending the better part of the past several years readying yourself for when gaston finds himself a wife, even giving in to playing wingman when needed. you could deal with being alone, as long as you’d still be able to see your friend every now and then.

  
you had always thought the two of you would break off once he found someone. but he hadn’t yet, did he still need you? who was going to support him, tell him he was worthy and good and deserving? who was going to help him with courtship, who was going to play the fool so that gaston can be juxtaposed as the wizened war hero? you thought he would have at least dragged you back home with him to safety out of his own necessity.

 

does it hurt because it seems as though he found no use for you on any plane? does it make your chest ache because he apparently didn’t see the worth in you that you saw in him so often (even when there were hardly any glints there)? is it just because he didn’t love you or because him not loving you only gives you more of a reason to not love yourself?

  
the fifth petal is spent without much thought. it goes on like this for the next few petals, really. you keep tossing around the ideas of love and adoration in your head and wondering if they’re interchangeable. you spend some time wondering if your past feelings are even relevant. this is your new life, this is your second chance. this is your way to move past your old mistakes and try to learn what you once couldn’t. by then, however, your fingers have stopped working. you set down your project and knead desperately at your temples for some solace.

  
the beast, his timing as precise as ever, comes into the foyer at this moment. maybe in a better state you would have heard his heavy footfalls descend the stairs, but now is not the case. he clears his throat (he always does this as to not… startle you? you’re not quite sure why) before speaking,” are you alright?”

  
it’s evident you’re not,” yes, i’m fine. just a headache, is all.”

  
he takes a few hesitant steps closer to the arm you’re in, his brows are furrowed with worry,” are you feeling ill? maybe all this drafty air is making you catch a cold…”

  
you shake your head more vigorously than intended,” no, no! just your typical headache. don’t worry about me.”

  
which is apparently the wrong thing to say. he’s reaching out his paw (to feel your head? does he really believe you’re feverish?) but you turn your head aside,” i mean it! you don’t have to check.”

  
he withdraws his paw, looking a bit… hurt? does he really feel that obligated to make sure you’re doing alright? or maybe he feels like you’re.. afraid of him. like you don’t want him touching you. the thought of that only makes your headache intensify. too much mulling over ideas today, it’s getting hectic in your head.

  
you stand, albeit awkwardly, and pardon yourself to your quarters.

* * *

  
the beast approaches you on your way back from dinner a few days after your last one-on-one encounter. he seems eager to speak with you, easily matching your stride,” i want you to teach me! how to embroider, i mean. i’d like to learn. love to learn, really.”

  
you quirk an eyebrow at him,” you mean it?”

  
he fiddles his thumbs, looking more flustered than you’d ever anticipate,” of course i mean it. i shared something with you, i’d love if you shared an interest with me.”

  
you don’t spend a moment considering,” well, that sounds fair!”

  
he seems even more enthused than when he did before asking the question,” i’d greatly appreciate if we started.. simple. i don’t think i’m dexterous enough to produce anything amazing.. at least not without practice.”

  
you eye his paws. he’s made a relatively good point. you’re not sure how you can teach someone with claws how to work around fabric. really, you’re not even positive you could teach him well in general, being that it’s something you’ve only just refreshed yourself in. still, it’s been awhile since you’ve had a leisurely challenge.

* * *

  
you begin lessons the next day. mrs. potts and chip are very pleased to serve tea over the morning lesson. mrs. potts even goes so far as to remark that she’s happy to see ‘her two boys’ getting along so well. it’s so deeply maternal that it makes you feel a brief pang for your own mother. it’s a nice sentiment, however. mrs. potts and chip bid farewell to the two of you after a while, though, and you can only assume this is because it’s gotten boring to watch.

 

the beast was right about his hands not being dexterous enough, just like your assumption that you wouldn’t be a good teacher was confirmed. you end up instructing him to mirror you and pray for the best. you can’t verbalize the actions or techniques you’re attempting to employ, you can only hope and pray that he can pick up your every movement.

  
the beast, as it turns out, has a watchful eye. the end result of your first lesson isn’t awful. he gets a good kick out of looking at his work next to yours, and you cannot help but to join in with him.

  
“a good first try!” you pat him on the broad shoulder and you swear you see him jump a bit at the unexpected contact.

  
he recovers though, snorts out another laugh,” it looks like a child made it.”

  
he isn’t wrong,” well you know what you do with things children make? hang it up so everyone can see.”

  
the beast rests his face in his palms, groans melodramatically,” _noooo_ , definitely not. if i let everyone see this, they’ll never take me seriously again.”

  
you almost elbow him like he’s a long-time companion, but refrain,” nobody said that’s a bad thing! this could be your whole new image.”

  
he gets a real kick out of that,” yes, now i’m a changed beast. i do nice things like house injured strangers in my scary castle and have hobbies like poorly-done needlework projects.”

  
the pair of you share a laugh until you pitch in,” well, this is apart of my new self as well. i’m a changed man who wakes up early in the mornings and reinvests himself in his childhood pastime of embroidery.”

  
the laughter lulls to a stop, and the beast has a genuine tone when he asks,” what made you ever stop? you have a.. a real talent, actually.”

  
you shrug and look interested your knuckles for lack of a better action to stall with,” i, hmm… well. my father wasn’t too fond of it. i guess it doesn’t need more of an explanation than that.”

  
you can hear the annoyance in the beast’s voice,” fathers are like that.”

  
you’ve accidently stumbled straight into a personal discussion you’re not sure you should be having.

  
the beast breaks the silence first,” mind if we do a bit of _quid pro quo_?”

  
“come again?”

  
“you tell me something, i’ll tell you something in return,” he elaborates.

  
you think the proposition over. it sounds fair, given that it’s how most of your interactions with the beast have gone thus far anyways,” what do you want to.. know? talk about? sorry, i’m not sure where you want me to say..”

  
the beast starts,” no, no. i figure you already started, really. you mentioned your father and i.. my father wasn’t particularly open-minded to my interests either. i guess it comes with being a prince and all, but there were very strict guidelines he wanted me to follow. there was academics and weapons training and lectures. there wasn’t much time to be spent doing other hobbies.”

  
“like birdwatching?”

  
he voice wavers a bit,” yes. like birdwatching.”

  
he gives you this look. his eyes are typically expressive, but you haven’t seen them express this… loss in them. you have to connect a few dots (never your greatest ability) to put together that he must have lost his mother at a young age as well. that’s why he holds onto her interests the same as you hold onto what your mother tried to instill in you. he’s searching your face for this mutual understanding that neither of you know how to voice.

  
cogsworth (the timing of everyone in this castle is maddening) comes in to announce a late lunch is being served.

* * *

  
a few days into your lessons and there’s already signs of improvement. since both of you have come to teach and learn without words, you mainly spend hours in comfortable silence sitting nearby each other. the beast has definitely gotten faster with his work, you suppose his paws have gotten used to the action by now. still, he’s actually a much quicker learner than most, despite all the setbacks.

 

the beast makes his first successful rose (you’re glad the pair of you have settled on roses because you’re not really sure you’re good at making much else design-wise). he’s giddy for the rest of the afternoon, even taking his work to lunch to show cogsworth and the whole rest of the staff.

  
cogsworth looks between the beast and his embroidery with momentary disbelief. then he manages to settles his eyes on you for a second, still unbelieving of what is in front of him. he snaps out of it, but not after you meet gazes. did he really think you were good for nothing?

  
you shake the thought until the beast is walking you back to your room after your meal. you’re alone (as alone as you can be in a castle like this) and you pipe up,” am i… disliked?”

  
he stops in his tracks, not out of shock, but moreso out of.. you’re unsure,” what would make you think that?”

  
“i don’t think cogsworth likes me very much, and i know i’ve been a bother and all… you don’t have to lie to me, i know i’m a problem--a nuisance.” it’s a silly thing to say out loud. you immediately regret raising the issue. this man is housing you and you’ve got the nerve to keep complaining. you look down at your feet.

  
“don’t,” he takes a deep breath,” don’t think such thoughts. you haven’t been bothering anyone. cogsworth is just.. well, we’ve discussed this before. it’s with good reason his attitude is the way it is, but it isn’t relating to you.”

  
you’re not trying to pry, but you still haven’t understood what he’s been alluding to fully,” please, just.. what _is_ it relating to? i know there’s a curse and there’s.. there’s something. i just don’t understand. i’m sorry, i’m really trying to.”

  
the beast looks down at you. you can tell he’s thinking. probably weighing the options. he sighs again, turn the opposite direction from where your room is. he doesn’t instruct you to follow him, but you do so anyways.

  
you traverse to a part of the castle you’ve never seen before. it had been discouraged during the earlier tours you had taken, and you had never felt the need to investigate, so the area the beast is leading you into is entirely new territory. on this half of the castle, it appears to be much more run-down than the rest. there’s cobwebs to and fro, the air has a more distinct chill to it. there’s less light filtering in. you’re almost scared, but with the beast’s hulking figure in front of you guiding the way you know it’s safe. no beams from the ceiling or crumbing structures are going to fall on top of you, most likely.

  
the room you’re now is must be the end goal of the trip. the beast stops just a few footsteps into it. he isn’t sweeping his arm for you to go out ahead of him, but you know it’s what he wants you to do. the room is expansive, ceilings high and drafty. it leads into another room, windowed and the glass frosting up, casting an eerie hue. the back room is empty, save a single glass case with a rose sitting inside.

  
there isn’t a click for you. for a moment, you grow dreadful that the beast isn’t going to explain anything and that he’s figured you’re smart enough to understand. luckily he catches on.

  
he tells you this tale, unspecific though you know it is about him, of a vain prince. he talks of pride and arrogance and neglect, all of which wound the prince up in the position of being transformed, along with the rest of his castle and its inhabitants, into what they are not.

  
“except,” he has an expression of honesty,” obviously the prince was a beast.”

  
you stand, dumbfounded, while eying the rose,” so there’s a way to break the curse, right? that’s why cogsworth is upset. you can tell me how, right?”

  
the beast looks crestfallen,” there is. of course, it’s not as simple as completing some heroic quest or anything of the sort.”

  
“please tell me.”

  
he lets the silence hang, trying to dance around the answer more.

 

“ _please_.”

  
“it’s true love,” he snorts, sarcastic and full of bile,” of course, it’s true love. the only way to break the curse is something so unattainable to me.”

  
you go back to looking at the rose. there’s not many petals left. there’s urgency in the air, tension. you know why cogsworth doesn’t want the beast to be wasting his time with you. you being here is wasting the life of not only the beast, but all of the residents of this castle. you’re dooming them by prolonging the arrival of someone to fall in love with the beast and save him.

  
you stare at the rose with discontent, understanding the complex relationship the beast has with the flora. the object of his mockery, his failure, constantly reflected back to him around the castle. even in the work you’ve been doing, it’s almost like a dig at him that you’ve been unknowingly promoting. stupid you, _idiot_! couldn’t you have tried to contextualize anything? or make sense of any of the situation you’re in so you don’t royally destroy a friendship without knowing what you even were doing?

  
“i,” you can barely find your voice,” i didn’t mean to mess it all up. i know you’ll say i didn’t, or maybe you secretly agree that i did, but i know it to be true that i am partly to blame.”

  
you make a swift exit before he can protest. he doesn’t try to catch up with you. you contemplate packing what little possessions you came with and trying to make it to the next nearest town. you couldn’t go back to where you came from, but you can always start somewhere new.

* * *

  
lumière is in tow with the cart with your dinner on it. his expression is cross. you hadn’t been expecting a meal that night after leaving the beast, and you certainly hadn't been expecting lumière.

 

you reach your hand out for a dinner rolls and he slaps it away (which is pretty dangerous given that his hands are basically fire),” ah-ah! no dinner until you speak up.”

  
you feel a bit like a child being scolded, so you act like one. your eyes travel around the room, avoiding look at him,” about what?”

  
he tuts, shakes his head,” if the master isn’t speaking, then you’re going to have to tell me why on earth does he look so upset.”

  
you feel guilty,” he was just talking to be about the curse and i implied i can just.. you know, get out of everyone’s hair. believe me—i don’t want to make things worse! i can absolutely leave.”

  
in the hours between your conversation with the beast and dinner you hadn’t given much thought on where you’d travel, though. where could you go where nobody knew your face and you could still, somehow, be successful? you don’t have many applicable skills.

  
lumière cuts off your thoughts,” don’t you get it? he wants the opposite of that!”

  
the words in your mouth stumble over each other until you can make out,” huh?”

  
lumière shakes his head, sighs,” that’s why he hasn’t been telling you about the curse and whatnot. he doesn’t want you to pity yourself and leave! believe it or not, but he genuinely enjoys your company.”

  
“but—the curse. your future, your lives—all of your lives, i mean!”

  
he lets you stutter on for a bit longer before saying,” if what our master wants is friendship, then he can have it. i know we here all like your company, too. i mean, who else lets me beat them so badly at chess?”

 

“i don’t let you win at chess, though!”

  
he chuckles,” and that’s what makes it so fun!”

  
“but,” you lower your voice,” i know cogsworth doesn’t want me here all that much.”

  
he rolls his eyes the best a candelabra can,” i think he simply doesn’t believe our master is capable of friendship. capable of, oh, growing into a decent person. you’ve helped him far more than any of us could have.”

  
he gestures to the roll you had been reaching for. you’re almost too busy smiling like a fool to yourself to notice.

* * *

  
it’s a bit awkward to stumble back into the routine you had once before now that the truth is laid bare. the castle used to have this air of mystery to you, but with all of that aside it just feels more like an empty prison. or, maybe not a prison exactly, but certainly devoid of any mystery or wondering it used to make you feel. it’s not exactly sad, just different.

  
you meet the beast in his study to do a lesson and find yourself sidetracked by the towers of books all around. the beast has already taken rest in a chair, ready to start embroidering (you’re trying to move on from roses, do perhaps snapdragons or any other type of flower) while you’re standing, looking up at the sight before you.

  
he lowers his hoop with interest on you, a furry eyebrow raised,” are you… surprised the royal castle has so many books?”

  
it’s not the most humbled thing to say. you shake your head,” no, uh! it’s just… where i live, we certainly don’t have this much. to be honest i didn’t know.. so many books could exist together in one place.”

  
the beast grins, you can see his large fangs more prominently,” doesn’t it make you excited? so much reading to be done! so much to absorb—all this new and competing ideas… it knocks me off my feet sometimes, honestly. so much information exists in the world—even more than this.”

  
you wring your hands and keep turning around in the room to take in the amount of literature over and over again, ad nauseum,” i, uh, suppose you’re right.”

  
and, of course, it’s easy to read you. the beast sets his hoop down, now, and stands slowly,” are you.. not an avid reader? i-it’s fine if you’re not, trust me! just curious.”

  
and he’s looking at you with such blatant interest in his eyes, like he’s dying to know. so much so that he’s willing to postpone his lesson maybe just to get you to discuss shakespeare’s merits with him or debate platonian ideas. and, honestly, you’re terrified. you’ve been of interest to him so far because you’ve been able to teach him what little you know, but it’d be a shame if he actually wants a discussion partner or an intellectual equal out of you. and here you were just getting to be comfortably acquaintances and you’re already about to be a letdown.

  
and he’s edging closer to you, more worry growing on his face at you stalling up,” i, um… i just haven’t read much.”

  
he nods with genuine understanding,” no, it’s fine! i just had to read a lot it was apart of my education. i guess i’ve just forgotten most don’t have all the opportunities i did, i’m sorry.”

  
you’re looking down at your shoes, shoulder squared,” i, er, can’t read. at all. i never went to school, i was always busy helping around the house so i never got a chance. by the time i had, you know, free time i figured i was just too.. old, i guess. like i’ve missed my chance.”

  
“nonsense!”

  
“huh?”

  
he reaches out, places a paw on your shoulder that’s much warmer and larger than you had anticipated it to be,” nonsense, i said! you can always still learn. i mean, if you want to, that is… do you want to? learn, i mean?”

  
he’s got this big hopeful look on his face like you’ve given him the opportunity of a lifetime. you certainly aren’t as excited as he is, but there is a little something coursing through you,” well, sure! i mean — yes.”

* * *

  
the embroidery lessons gets abandoned from that point onward. the beast sits you down, digs around in the study until he finds what must be the simplest thing to read in the entire castle. you’re able to whip through it quickly, since you know most simple words (mainly from directions and names of locations, just useful things). nonetheless, he looks excited to be able to point to something and for you to say it out loud. when you get through each page, you share this excited look together as if you’re both doing the impossible.

  
the challenge starts when he has to try to find something that isn’t completely elementary, but wouldn’t be impossible for you. he gives up, eventually and sticks to writing in a small book. his penmanship isn’t the best (he gives up trying to make his letters loopy and neat within minutes), and each sentence he wants you to practice takes a minute of concentrating on trying to make it legible for you. it’s a slow process, but still ultimately rewarding when you can get through something as short as ‘the dog is brown’.

  
you spend days at this, barely sleeping or leaving the study in order to try to not forget much overnight or during a long break. mrs. potts keeps trying to advise you two that this is bordering on unhealthy, but it’s almost too riveting to quit. it’s not that you love learning. rather, you hate learning anything of such an academic nature. it hurts your head, makes you feel small when you can’t figure out how the word ‘cabin’ is spelled. it’s just that..

 

you like seeing the beast happy. he looks at you like you’re a project. he’s not trying to fix you or make you presentable or like he wants to conquer you, it’s just that he looks at you as if there’s something there. like you’re worthy of teaching and that, despite all of your mistakes you make, he still thinks it’s worth seeing you be able to achieve. it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.

  
though, after about a week and a half, you wake up with a stifling headache. you still show up to the study, but not in your best condition. the beast ushers you back to your bedroom instantly, apologizing incessantly for overworking you.

  
“no, no,” you’re pulling off your houseshoes to clamber back into bed,” you didn’t do any overworking. it’s just that my brain is very, heh, underworked? is that a word? don’t answer that.”

  
he takes rest in the seat nearby the bed, looking over you with watchful eyes as if you’re going to pass out with a fever at any moment,” don’t sell yourself short. you’ve been making great progess.”

  
“so have you! your handwriting, pssh! so much improvement,” you rest your head against the down pillows, your temples thudding,” i don’t think i’ve slept enough. i keep having dreams that are just words. is that a thing that’s even possible? word dreams?”

  
he snorts,” are you positive you’re not feverish? you’re awfully rambly.”

  
“what are you, a doctor? i’m fine! not tired, but i just need some rest i suppose.”

  
the beast stands, shuffles around the room before fetching some book off a shelf. he sits back down and thumbs through it for a while. he must really think you’re sicking, since he’s sitting here bedside reading a book like a worried nurse. you feel your own head (it’s fine, you certainly just have an awful headache and are more than likely due for a good night’s sleep) since he really has you buying in.

  
“read to me?” it’s a silly little request. it just feels strange to have him in here while not speaking. you’re used to comfortable silences between the two of you, but not while you’re laying down and under the blankets. it feels strange if there isn’t something being verbalized.

  
the beast doesn’t look at you like it’s a silly request, however. he simply takes a deep breath and starts at, what you guess, is the top of the next page he’s on. you have no idea what he’s reading, and you don’t have much intent on focusing on the words. it’s just his voice has a relaxing rumble to it when he is trying to be quiet and the next thing you know you’re asleep.

* * *

  
from then on you decide to take the lessons a bit easier. you balance between reading days and days where you try to get back to teaching him embroidery. you feel a bit like two elderly people, spending most days sitting around and drinking tea and having light conversation over your works. you overhear how the rose is down to four petals one day and have to act like it doesn’t send you into a panic.

  
several days later, there’s a thicker snowfall outside than the usual. the beast offers that you have a day off (as if you basically aren’t already on a holiday) to go out.

  
“do you get cold?”

  
he looks at you, the corners of his mouth curl up in a lazy grin,” are you.. asking me if i get cold because of my fur?”

  
“i didn’t know how to start the conversation!” the pair of you had been trudging in the snow for a bit, and it had been eerily quiet for too long.

  
“no,” he shakes his head,” no i guess i don’t get that cold. do you get cold?”

  
“ha ha. funny, funny! yes, i get cold. look at me,” you outstretch your arms to show the amount of overcoats you’ve managed to swaddle yourself in,” and i’m _still_ cold under all of this!”

  
“jealous of the fur? it’s not often i get to hear that,” he laughs despite his words being a bit, well, morbid you guess.

  
you make an executive decisions to throw snow at him. in retrospect, this is one of your bigger mistakes of maybe your whole life. the worst part is, that when you engage in a snowball fight with the beast you can tell he’s trying to go easy on you.

  
you spend over an hour trying to make forts against each other and have pseudo-ambushes against the other’s fort. you get winded easily, but it doesn’t stop you from still trying. he spends a good amount of the battle biding his time while you launch meager attacks on him. then he finally decides to put it to an end but dumping more snow on you than your arms could even carry if there were three of you against one of him.

  
you sit, defeated easily, behind your half-collapsed snow fort wall covered in even more snow as you raise your hands in defeat,” i give up! cease fire!”

  
the beast is standing overtop of you, acting like he didn’t just completely defeat you without even trying. he outreaches a paw to help you up, which you accept,” maybe next time.”

  
“oh, like there will be a next time,” you release his hand to brush snow that’s clumped to the fabric of your pants,” i know better than for there to be a next time. one defeat was already enough bruising to my pride.”

  
though you were being facetious, he raises his eyebrows,” did me winning really hurt your ego? i’m sorry, i.. i’ve got big hands and cold resistance that puts me at an unfair tactical advantage, really.”

  
you toss your head back and have to laugh at his sincere response for a good solid minute while trying to choke out,” did you, haha—did you really think i meant that? i was kidding, kidding!”

  
he gives you a playful shove while there’s tears rolling down your cheeks at this point and you shove him back while giggling out,” ‘unfair tactical advantage’—you sound so fancy!”

  
the pair of you get in a childish shoving war while he eventually starts to laugh as well. and, in a true moment of the beast not knowing his own strength, does he manage to knock you back into the ground while you’re both in giggle fits.

  
“look,” you throw your hands up,” look at me! i’m in the ground now!”

  
he’s keeps snorting amidst his laughter,” i’m sorry i keep bruising your pride like this!”

  
he doesn’t even take a moment’s thought to flop onto the ground next to you. you elbow him,” well, why are we both on the ground?”

  
he shrugs as if it’s the easiest answer in the world,” because if it were just you then it would look like i knocked you over an accident, but now it looks like we’re just having a conversation from the ground. like.. stargazing during the day.. i suppose that’s studying the different forms of clouds.”

  
“it’s overcast,” he cuts in with a dramatic roll of his eyes,” and besides, you did knock me over on accident.”

 

he laughs but it gets a bit quieter,” would it be weird to say it hurts _my_ ego knowing it was an accident?”

  
you both keep looking up at the sky. the snow is coming back, but it’s at its usual constant light pace that you’re used to by now,” no, i.. no.”

  
he has his hands clasped over his chest,” i don’t want to be the bad monster. i used to be, and i even liked being able to smash whatever i wished and yell whenever i wanted because being a beast was just who i am now but now it’s not.. what i want.”

  
you have to mull it over in your mind, though it’s too cold to be laying down and just thinking introspectively,” it’s not who you are, not really.”

  
“it’s what i look like.”

  
“well if anyone took the time to get to know you, they’d see you’re not what you look like. you’re not even who you first come off as.”

  
“what did i first come off as?”

  
you shrug, turn to look in the other direction towards the woods,” kind of.. a bad guy?  like you were selfish and short-tempered. i don’t know, i’m sorry. tell me to stop whenever you want.”

  
he sighs,” no, it’s fine.”

  
“but obviously i don’t think that anymore! you’ve got a lot more going for you. i.. okay, i had this friend back at home i was relatively close with and he was selfish and short-tempered as well. and i always thought there was something more to him, if i could just.. i don’t know, figure him out. but there was nothing else there. just a bad person.”

  
“what happened to him? when did you realize he was just bad?”

  
your eyes are still focused on the forest. it’s been awhile since you’ve looked deeper into them than just the surface level of trees,” he’s how i ended up here. he.. left me. alone in the woods and he left me there to, i guess, die. but i didn’t. and i kept trying to figure out why he would do such a thing until i realized he was genuinely bad and that you were much more than i originally took you for. so i guess.. thank you for that. among all the other things i could be thanking you for.”

  
there’s more silence until the beast ventures,” why would you keep giving someone bad so much of your time?”

  
you weigh it over in your head. it’s been a question you keep coming across yourself. you don’t know the answer. or rather, you don’t care to admit the answer to yourself. you fall back on the idea of if admiration and love are interchangeable and it makes you a bit queasy to your stomach.

  
you sit upright, deciding you’ve had enough of the snow,” if i don’t get tea soon i may legitimately catch a cold.” the beast gets up after you, follows you back inside.

* * *

  
the beast and you are sitting by the fire a few nights later (which you’re documenting because he insists writing words will help you retain them for you to remember faster) after dinner. the kitchen staff had whipped up profiterole after profiterole for dessert and you were both enjoying them before you’d eventually have to head off to bed.

 

the beast is reading something independently (because apparently teaching you to read wasn’t enough, and he was also trying to self-teach himself greek in the meanwhile) when he sets it down on his knee in the middle of a page,” you know, i had you all wrong as well.”

  
“huh?”

  
he continues while you finally recall he’s trying to pick the conversation from a week ago back up again,” i guess what i used to think of you doesn’t matter because now i just know you’re thoughtful and you’re.. you’re smarter than i think you know you are. you sell yourself too short, but i think you’re starting to realize that, huh?”

  
you tap your writing utensil against the page you’re on, trying to find the words on how to chronicle this so you don’t get too worked up in giving him a verbal response. the writing fails you, as does your words when you say,” thank you.”

  
he picks his book back up, smiling fondly to himself but trying to cover up his grin a bit with his book. he nods and the conversation is over as quickly as it began.

* * *

  
he’s helping you read through a book when you get onto the topic of balls and other such formal occasions. the beast mentions hosting several, and compares his experience to the book (which is a little silly since you’re reading a children’s fairytale on a girl going to a ball and he’s describing an actual account). you listen regardless as he fondly recalls dancing with woman after woman, spending hours prepping for the occasion.

  
he talks about years of dance lessons and etiquette classes, before sighing,” i guess i miss it. just a bit.”

  
“what,” you’re mainly ribbing him at this point,” interacting with people who aren’t me?”

  
he literally ribs you with his elbow,” the balls! you knew what i was referring to.”

  
you roll your eyes, mainly in jest,” yeah, yeah. i know.”

  
he puts his chin in his paw for a moment, resting his elbow on the desk you’re both working around,” hmm. i wonder if i can even still dance. i feel like i’d trip over my feet, honestly.”

  
“oh, nonsense. years of lessons can’t just be erased.”

  
“can you dance?”

  
you hadn’t given it much thought,” i think so. i can do a lively jig? not really formal dancing, but to be fair most of the dancing i did was in taverns.”

  
he chuckles, stands. he’s holding up his posture and arms outstretched in a way that makes you realize, oh, he wants to dance. with you. you stand up from the chair much louder and more suddenly than you intend to, which only makes him laugh more. it’s not in a mocking way, he just.. genuinely seems to be happy, you guess.

  
he rests a hand on your lower back, clasps the other one with your’s,” now just watch my feet.”

  
he goes slowly, it isn’t hard to follow. you feel too close to him, but eventually the problem fades to the back of your head because he’s humming a tune faintly and it’s much nicer than you thought it’d be. it isn’t a big event, it certainly isn’t a ball. it’s just the pair of you in the middle of working taking a quick break to indulge in something he’s missed. it’s nice, it’s easy.

  
it’s almost a pain to separate. he’s run out of a tune to hum and you’ve gotten past stumbling over his feet occasionally to make this feel like a lesson. when you part, he’s got this oblivious grin on his face like nothing can touch him. he’s looking at you in a way nobody ever has before. it’s different than the look at says you’re worth something, it’s more.

  
“your cheeks are so pink,” he’s laughing at you now, fondly.

  
you cover your face with one of your hands,” so observant!”

 

”you’re so embarrassed, but you weren’t an awful partner,” he sits back down and points back to your book,” now, shall we?”

* * *

  
lumière is playing chess with you (you’re almost winning, maybe someday you’ll win) when he looks at you with his smirk on his metallic face.

  
“okay, what is that?”

  
he moves his piece (he’s edging towards taking out your final knight),” what is what?”

  
“that face you’re making,” he smiles more to himself than to you,” that! you’re doing it right now.”

  
“oh,” he watches you fail to properly set up a move that would be able to turn the game in your favor, no doubt,” i just know something you don’t know.”

  
“isn’t that always?”

  
he’s got this good-natured, loud laughter. he waves a candle at you as a person would frantically wave their hand when laughing,” yes and no! but this is something i know that you don’t and i don’t think the master knows either.”

  
“ah, yes,” you watch as he takes your knight,” the rare time something falls outside of both of our knowledge. or, really, the rare time something must escape his knowledge.”

  
lumière studies the board for a moment. you know he’s thinking of his next few moves in advance rather than thinking of how to at least make you feel like you’ve almost won,” don’t be so smug. i’d bet you really would want to know this. the thing i know, that is.”

  
“you know what they call these? mind games, is what,” you take his bishop somehow, though you figure it was just a sacrifice so that he could make a bigger move later,” and sometimes i can take a surprise. is it a surprise?”

  
lumière laughs,” well, yes and no.”

  
“is everything yes and no?”

  
“... yes and no.”

  
the conversation isn’t going very far. neither is your gameplay. it doesn’t take lumière but a few more moves to get you in check, but it’s already been downhill since before then.

 

lumière hops off the stool he’s been on after another easy win for him,” well, i’ve got to get going. you know, dinner service to help prepare and all. i’m very important!” he dishes out a wink to you before leaving. it’s maddening.

* * *

  
and you keep having these strange dreams at night that end up with you waking up, tangled with your sheets kicked off around your ankles. after having it for a week (you swear it’s the one you used to have before, before you were even given a room, but you can’t remember that one), you finally recall it.

  
you’re at your childhood home, your mother is ill. she’s laying on her bed and your head is telling you this is close to the end. you’ve got to do something for her! you can’t let your mother leave this planet without you showing her what she means to you.

  
your body fills with panic as you race out of your house, past where your father is working on chopping firewood (in the dream, the firewood is distorted to an unrealistically large stack, too much for any household to need for a singular winter). you’re too busy, panicked, to even tell him he doesn’t have to chop anymore, that he should go be with your mother.

  
you keep leaving the house, further and further until it’s a speck in the distance. you feel like you’re running from it for so long that you’re not a child anymore, but the urgency of the original task is there. you need to find your mother something, bring it back to her. you come across this huge hill, with tall grass that brushes up against your knees and you go barrelling straight down it until you topple over and into a patch of stinging nettles. but past the nettles, your brain informs you, there are the loveliest flowers you can pick and bring back to your mother. if only you can endure the patch for longer.

  
but you keep moving and moving, deeper and into somewhere darker until you emerge on the other side to no flowers. you’re at the feet of someone with dark leather shoes and when you looks up you can see gaston sneering down at you. he’s got yellow eyes and he’s telling you that you’re too late. you can’t even find your voice before you wake up.

  
mrs. potts is beside you after you wake up from it this time. she’s trying to coax you into drinking chamomile tea just for her, please, she’s asking you. chip looks worried when you finally reach out your hand to drink.

  
“it’s the middle of the night,” your forehead feels damp with sweat,” why are you here?”

  
mrs. potts darts her eyes around the room,” the master stays up very late, he was passing by your room and said he heard you tossing and turning. he didn’t want to come in, but he was too worried to not have someone come check on you. are you alright, dear?”

  
you wipe your head with the back of your hand,” i am. i’ve just been having… stressful dreams, is all.”

  
“something on your mind?”

  
she’s looking at you with all the concern in the world. she’s always like this, caring about you although you’ve only come to know her recently,” i’m not sure. i didn’t think so. i guess.. old worries are just coming back. i can’t explain it.”

  
chip returns to the cart next to his mother,” don’t worry! when i get scared i just remember my mum is here for me and then i feel less scared. you just gotta remember you’re never alone in the castle.”

  
mrs. potts nods,” he’s right, in a way. in fact, if the beast hadn’t been looking out for you, then we wouldn’t have been able to have chatted.”

  
“is he,” you look towards your door,” nearby?”

  
she smiles slightly,” no, i told him he looked too worried to hang close by. you’ll see him tomorrow, don’t worry. we’ll tell him you’re fine on the way out, though.”

  
chip jumps a little at bit,” aye-aye, we will!”

  
after the cart rolls out, you lay back down. you don’t try to think about what the dream means, and when you manage to fall back asleep you have a dreamless slumber afterwards.

 

* * *

 

the next night, the beast follows you back to your chambers after a late dinner.

 

“oh, clingy much?” you’re tossing the quip over your shoulder to him as a joke. you’ve been told you’re clingy before, but it’s a little funny to see him get a bit of a pout on his face.

  
“ha ha,” he’s in your room now, looking around since it had been awhile since he was in there,” such good humor for someone who’s apparently been getting such bad sleep.”

  
when you had met with him earlier that day for embroidery, you had gone into vague detail about the recurring dream you had been having. he had noted, with poorly disguised worry, that you did seem to have darker rings under your eyes.

  
“so,” you don’t have many pre-bedtime rituals, really, so you’re only moments away from slipping into bed,” is that why you’re here?”

  
“i don’t sleep much, either. but a perk of having a primarily non-human form is that i can live on less sleep than you.”

  
you have your nightgown on at this point,” may i ask what your point is?”

  
“i figured i can just be nearby and, uh, wake you up if you seem to be having a bad dream,” he sits nearby the bed, twiddles his thumbs. he looks awkward, which is one of the most human looks you’ve seen on him. you’re always constantly experiencing whiplash of his appearance versus his mannerisms,” i mean, unless that’s odd. is it odd?”

  
you get under the blankets,” no, it’s.. it’s very thoughtful. i’m sorry for all the teasing, it’s just funny to see you get riled up. thank you, honestly.”

  
he grins like a child that’s just been given candy,” it’s no problem!”

  
he stands up after a few seconds, retrieving the book he was reading from the last time. you watch as he goes through it, mumbling to himself about where he left off last. and, like before, he starts reading aloud.

  
you try your best to not fall asleep, but you’ve been having so much fitful slumber that you don’t last very long.

  
you can feel the dream starting up. your mother. your father and the impossibly large stack of firewood. the travelling and travelling. once you start to lose your balance down the hill, however, you’re shaken awake. you bolt upright, gasping from the unexpected arousal from your sleep.

  
the beast is looking at you, eyes wide,” are you alright?”

  
you catch your breath, lean back against the headboard of the the bed, shoulders pressed up against the pillows,” yes, i’m fine. sorry, haven’t woken up in the middle of it before.”

  
he’s standing from his chair, you can see the book he was reading from is resting in it, marked in the middle of the page that he certainly went on ahead to read to himself while you were asleep.

  
his eyebrows are furrowed with concern,” was it awful? your dream?”

  
you recall some of it again, but it isn’t as clear as it was to you the night before,” all i know is it makes me anxious. i’m not sure why. do you get them.. bad dreams, i mean?”

  
“of course i do. i may sleep less, but that doesn’t mean i don’t have very.. human dreams,” he sits on the side of the bed and you move over a bit so he has enough room.

  
“do they try to convince you that you’re doing something wrong?”

  
his facial response is unreadable,” of course.”

  
“i’m sorry.”

  
he smiles, pats your knee with his paw,” i’m sorry about your dreams, too. i guess even when we’re hardly around others and all these societal pressures we still have dreams like we used to, huh?”

  
it’s silent for a bit until you try to lighten the mood,” lumière told me a while back he knows something we both don’t. do you think we should try to pair our wits and figure it out someday?”

  
the beast laughs, looks at you up and down,” did he really say such a thing? how meddlesome…”

  
“see, well now you make it sound like you actually know what he does. and here i thought we were on the same page.”

  
the beast shifts his weight a bit,” well, i didn’t know until you said that. now i think i get it.”

  
the moonlight is streaming into the room. you’re not sure what point in the night it is anymore. the room is partly illuminated by the candlelight the beast was using to read by, along with the aforementioned moon. the beast is looking at the floor, his eyes obscured. he’s got long eyelashes casted downwards that you think are more human than anything else.

  
“well,” you’re not sure where this conversation is going,” care to share with me?”

  
he gets this strange grin on his face, his voice is light,” i will. ask me how i feel about you.”

 

your mouth feels oddly dry,” well, how do you feel about me?”

  
“i’m in love with you.”

  
it’s not something you’ve ever heard before, especially not directed towards you. you’re taken aback, the breath knocked from your lungs for a moment until you can find it again,” o-oh?”

  
he’s looking at you dead-on now, a full smile stretched across his face,” i had been wondering to myself ‘why am i sitting next to someone who’s sleeping, rereading a book for a third time since the night has began, just to make sure they can get a good night’s rest?’. but now it’s so obvious to me. i love you. it feels so good to say, actually!”

  
“now i’m awake and am most certainly not getting a good night’s rest, though,” you run a hand through your hair and contemplate your feelings for a moment. it isn’t a dramatic reveal (though you truthfully have tears prickling in your eyes), you guess you’ve just be oblivious to something so obvious. now that it’s crystal clear, you feel foolish for not realizing much sooner,” i love you too.”

  
he grins, leans forward as if he’s going to kiss you. those what meets your mouth isn’t the face of the beast, but definitely the lips of a man. when you pull back you’re met with someone you’ve only seen before in passing of portraits long-since shredded.

  
he’s giving you this big, dopey, grin as he clasps your hands within his, very real and very human, hands,” and you know what the biggest shock of them all is?”

  
you squeeze his hands just to remember that he’s there, real,” that you thought you’d never break this curse?”

  
he shakes his head (his hair is so long, there’s this faint golden hue around him that’s nearly angelic), his smile not letting up,” that lumière knew how we felt before we did and kept quiet. he can never keep secrets!”

  
and while the castle comes alive with cheering the the clearing of snow on the landscape and the promise of change on the horizon, you can’t help but to stay right where you are for just a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to leave any comments! thnx!!


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